


His Own Armageddon

by suchanadorer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, References to Suicide, reference to addiction, reference to alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suchanadorer/pseuds/suchanadorer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He was a rock, went straight for his own Armageddon, face froze in a grin...</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Moxy Fruvous, The Drinking Song</p><p>Sam's pretty sure this wasn't what the authors of the twelve step program meant. He's also pretty sure he doesn't care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Own Armageddon

**Author's Note:**

> The wording of steps 1-7 and 12 has been changed, but the meaning of them is the same.

“Here,” Lindsay says, sliding a dog-eared paperback across the bar. She’s chewing on her lip again in that way that Sam figures she thinks makes her look cute. “I know you said it’s not alcohol, but... read it. It might help you anyway. With your own demons.”

Demons. That was the word she’d used, and for a moment Sam had been a deer caught in headlights, sure that she could see it on him, that there was red between his teeth and running down his chin.

He takes the book with a forced smile, but he knows that there will be nothing there to help him. There is no recovery program for starting an Apocalypse.

Later that night, after closing, Sam props himself up on his pillows and opens the book. The Big Book. He figures he’ll keep it for a week, leaf through it, and give it back.

**Admit you are powerless over addiction - that your life has become unmanageable.**

Sam figures he’s done that part. He did it when he told Dean that he didn’t trust himself, that he had to take a break from hunting. He walked away from everything he ever knew, so that his brother could be free to clean up the mess he’d made. He was still in no fit state to help him.

It’s been more than a year since he heard his brother’s voice, but the thought of ganking a demon still gives him the shakes in a terrible way. Whatever cleaned him up in the chapel that night has long since worn off, and he would be lying to himself if he said that part of the appeal of calling Dean and asking to come back didn’t lie in the idea of finding the first available demon and draining it dry.

He watches the news and knows that he could stop everything that’s happening, but he also knows that it’s all his fault. He can’t show his face again. It’s better this way.

One day at a time.

**Come to believe that a Power greater than yourself can restore you to sanity.**

When Sam first reads that, he wants to close the book and throw it at the wall, but something about the wording stops him. His experience with Powers was that they usually aren’t greater than himself. He knows firsthand that they bleed and die just like humans, and that alone means that he probably has no sanity left to restore.

“It’s vague on purpose,” Lindsay explains later, when Sam asks her about it. “The program’s not about religious conversion. You talk to whoever it is you talk to, tell them what you’ve done, and you ask them for help.”

He doesn’t mention that the only Power talking to him right now is an angel that haunts his dreams. Lucifer speaks softly, when he speaks at all. He is the only one who ever asks about Sam’s day. After weeks of polite overtures and gentle questions, Sam gives in and answers him, just to have someone to talk to who knows who he really is.

There is a charm to being called by his real name.

Sam answers Lucifer’s questions but never asks any of his own. He has no intention of asking him for help with anything, least of all this. He can’t imagine the King of Hell would be pleased to find out that Sam has been drinking the blood of his servants.

**Make a decision to turn your will and your life over to the care of God _as you understand Him._**

In the end this step is surprisingly easy. Lucifer has become a constant companion, the most tangible proof of God that Sam has seen in more than two years. Dean and Castiel are still contacts in his cell phone, but it is Lucifer who listens and counsels. He never presumes to know what’s best for Sam, and he always treats him as an equal. It’s a simple matter of telling Lucifer where he is, so that their conversations can go from Sam’s dreams to the dreary reality of the crappy apartment he’s gotten on the edge of town.

Lucifer turns up outside the bar to pick Sam up from work that night. Same dishwater hair, same crooked smile. Sam’s not sure what he was expecting. Sam stammers when he sees him, introduces him as “my friend”, and Lindsay gets the completely wrong idea. Sam sees it wash over her, gears clicking into place, years of one-sided sexual tension dissolving in the glow of a neon light. It’s easier than telling her the truth.

**Make a searching and fearless moral inventory of yourself.**

“I can’t hunt. I can’t fight. I can’t go back to school. I’m a fugitive in... several states.”

Sam gestures with his glass of bourbon, and Lucifer nods as Sam continues his list.

“I mean, I’ve been cursed since before I was six months old, right?”

“Sam -”

“No. I’m a freak. I always have been.” He runs his fingers back through his hair and tips his chair back on two legs.

“I think you’re perfect,” Lucifer offers from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.

At some point in his life, the Devil thinking he was perfect became the kind of compliment that could warm Sam better than whiskey. He wonders when that was.

When Sam falls asleep that night, it’s with an angel curled against his side, cool fingertips brushing his forehead to relieve the fever burn of too much alcohol.

**Admit to God, to yourself, and to another human being the exact nature of your wrongs.**

Sam gets drunk. Really, embarrassingly, hate-himself-tomorrow drunk. It is the only way that he can think of to make Lindsay listen to him when he tells her. She keeps trying to bring him glasses of water and orange juice, but when she sits, she listens.

And Sam tells her everything.

He tells her about his mother, and Jess, and the horrible heroics he and his family committed in the time between. He talks about monsters, demons, and the Devil’s Gate. He explains that his addiction was a woman, and the poison that ran in her veins, that still runs in his veins.

He is rooming with the devil himself, and tonight when he gets off work he’s going to walk back to his apartment and let that selfsame angel possess him and bring on the end of the world.

Lindsay actually calls Sam’s apartment and has Lucifer come collect him. That Lucifer appears with surprising speed, and that he looks like the Before photo on a late-night infomercial, are things she chooses not to comment on.

For his part, Lucifer simply drapes Sam’s arm around his shoulders and they start towards the door.

“You must be hell to live with,” Lindsay calls after them. “He called you the devil.”

The corner of Lucifer’s mouth curls up, but he says nothing.

“And I mean, not that it’s any of my business, but all that talk about ‘saying yes’ and ‘letting you possess him?’ Pretty kinky.”

At that Lucifer stops. Sam is singing Smoke on the Water quietly to himself when Lucifer turns his head and fixes Lindsay with cold blue eyes.

“Did he say that?” he asks. Frost crackles on the windows and there is a dull pop when a glass explodes above the bar. Lindsay hugs her arms tight around herself and nods. Lucifer’s grin is lupine, and Lindsay shudders.

“Tell Sam he doesn’t have to come in tomorrow,” she says as Lucifer shoulders open the door.

**Are entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.**

Sam feels awful the next day, but even as he struggles to the bathroom, there is a sense of lightness. He’s made his choice, and all that he has left to do now is to tell Lucifer. He’ll do it today, he thinks as the hot water sluices down his back.

Lucifer is waiting for him when he walks out of the bathroom.

“Your friend at the bar seems to think we’re a couple,” he remarks as he watches Sam dress. The corner of Sam’s mouth twitches up and he gives a little laugh. What they have is far from normal but it’s comfortable for Sam.

“She also seems to think you’re going to say yes to me.”

Sam tugs his jeans up over his hips and buttons them without a word. Lucifer tosses him a t-shirt and lets his eyes roam over the planes of his true vessel’s body while he waits for an answer.

Sam hitches a shoulder up. “What else can I do?” he asks. “I can’t just ride this out here. I get that. But I can’t get back in the game. I can’t -”

“Have you thought this through?” Lucifer is watching him with a pinched expression, like he wants to advise against it. He’s been watching Sam self-destruct since he arrived, and this could be just another phase of it.

Sam wipes at his mouth and starts again. “This is my chance to do something right. I can stop fighting my destiny and give you a chance at Paradise. You gonna complain?” he challenges.

Lucifer shakes his head almost imperceptibly and his gaze falls to his hands where he’s holding The Big Book loosely between his knees.

Sam’s pretty sure this isn’t what the author meant. He’s also sure he doesn’t care.

**Humbly ask Him to remove your shortcomings.**

They arrive in Detroit to little fanfare. Sam’s driven around the city before but never had reason to stop, and he’s not impressed by what he sees of downtown through the dark and the rain.

Lucifer looks up at the abandoned theater and nods. He leads Sam inside with a hand placed gently between his shoulder blades, not to push, just to guide.

Sam would have followed either way. He feels peace now that he’s stopped fighting and made his choice. His kingdom come, his will be done and all that.

He smells it before he sees it. It’s not a pleasant smell; there is the acrid burn of bitumen, fixed with the tang of copper and the thick, cloying scent of life. His mouth waters, but his hands shake, and he falters on the stairs.

There are two naked bodies hanging from the ceiling. Their ankles are tied together and their arms hang loosely past their heads.There are slits in their forearms from elbow to wrist, and blood runs out, dripping off their fingers to catch in funnels and collect in plastic jugs on the floor.

The man is dead, but the woman twitches and sucks in a wet breath at the sound of their boots on the wooden floor.

Her eyes flutter open, and her gaze focuses past Sam, on Lucifer.

“Father,” she moans weakly, then falls silent and still.

Meg steps out of the shadows at the far side of the room to stand beside the bodies. She smiles at them, crossing her arms over her chest. The knife in her hand is still stained red with blood.

Sam’s vision darkens at the edges until all he sees is the containers of blood. All he hears is the dull thud of drops hitting the plastic funnels, and the smell of it fills his head.

But all he can taste is bile at the back of his throat. He was done with this. He’d moved past it, given up on the greatest power he’d ever known and accepted his fate, to the point of letting go of everything and giving himself up to Lucifer, ending it all. _Suicide by angel._ This must be some kind of final test, and the thought sickens him. Shouldn’t saying yes be enough?

“What the hell is this?” he hisses before clamping a hand over his mouth and turning away. He can feel the need for it crawling under his skin, and he’s furious at his body’s betrayal.

“We heard you were coming, so we whipped up your favorite.” Meg’s sticky sweet singsong voice is the last thing Sam needs right now. “You wanna lick the spoon?”

Sam’s eyes cut to the side, where Lucifer is watching him with guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sam. You need to be...” He lowers his eyes as he chooses his next word. “Prepared, to take me in. I had hoped Castiel -”

“He never mentioned it.” Abomination. Boy with the demon blood. They’d talked about the blood, but if Castiel had known about Sam’s destiny, he had kept it to himself.

Sam is glad that Castiel can’t see him now.

Behind him, Meg chuckles. “Well, Sammy, when an angel and a vessel love each other very much -”

Sam swallows hard, fighting against a wave of nausea. “Get her the hell out of here,” he snaps, pointing back over his shoulder. “I won’t do this in front of her.”

Sam hears Meg huff, but he doesn’t care. If he must suffer this final humiliation, he will do so without an audience.

“Go,” Lucifer says flatly. Sam closes his eyes and breathes in deep through his nose.

“But -” she protests.

“Go,” Lucifer repeats. There is a heat in his voice that wasn’t there the first time, and it gets the point across. Sam hears the tromp of boots across the floor and grunts when Meg jabs him with her elbow on her way by. His fingers twitch. It would be so easy to start his end with her, to grab her by the wrist, then by the hair. He could sink his teeth into her neck and drink down every last drop. Part of him wants to, just to deny her her victory. He is not doing this for her.

He listens to her pulse until she’s gone down the stairs. His own pulse speeds up to match it.

Lucifer’s hand is cool on his shoulder. Sam feels feverish under his touch, and when he trembles, Lucifer squeezes reassuringly.

“There’s no other way, Sam, but I’ll do what I can to help.”

Sam sucks in a breath and turns around. The bodies are gone, but the blood remains; four plastic jugs of it lined up neatly on the floor.

That it should be so difficult to do exactly what’s expected of him.

Sam drags a chair across the floor and sits heavily. He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face, and takes deep breath after deep breath. He picks up the first jug only to set it down again, then stands and paces the room, swinging his arms at his sides and stretching them up above his head. He does everything he can think of to try to burn off the hunger. Now that it comes to it he’s nervous. He’s fought against this for so long, and he can’t help but think that it is so typical of his path that it should lead through this.

Lucifer’s eyes follow Sam around the room, watching him with concern, but making no move to force him into action. This has to be Sam’s decision, and Lucifer knows it.

Sam stops in front of the jugs. He bends and hooks a finger under a handle, bringing it to his lips as he stands. His body warms and he feels the pull of it. It always made him dizzy at first, until he got used to it, but his throat closes against it, fighting him to the last.

He sputters. A trickle of blood runs out down his cheek and Lucifer steps forward unbidden, wiping it away with his thumb. He catches Sam’s eyes and lifts his hand, raising his eyebrows.

When Lucifer pushes his bloody thumb into his mouth, Sam exhales and swallows, and it begins.

The first jug is still somewhat warm, and it goes down easy. It’s more than Sam’s ever had before, and his body reacts violently to it. He looks down expecting to see muscles ripping through his faded flannel shirt, but there’s nothing. Just the thrum of strength that goes down to his bones. It’s the same dark invincibility he felt with Ruby, but tinged with the knowledge of everything it cost him.

The next jug goes more slowly. He sits and lets it hang heavily between his knees. His stomach is full, and the thick liquid piles up inside him with nowhere to go. His vision is too sharp, too focused, and it’s too bright, even in the dark room. He squints and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“All of it?” he asks, twisting his neck to look up at Lucifer.

Lucifer frowns and nods. Sam blinks blearily and continues.

The third jug is difficult. Sam stands again. He stumbles, and Lucifer is at his side instantly, holding his elbow and the inside of his biceps to steady him. Lucifer’s chill is welcome, and Sam pants for a moment before shaking him off. The rush of power has built to the point of pain. He can feel every cell in his body vibrating, but they’re grating against each other. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and groans.

“I know it hurts, Sam.” Lucifer’s voice comes to him through a fog of pain and nausea. “You’re doing so well. You’re almost done, and then this can be over if you want it to.”

Sam shakes his head and storms back to where he left the half-empty jar. He tosses his head back and chugs, breathing out through his nose and shifting his weight as he swallows again and again. It burns on his throat and he feels tears sting his eyes.

He throws the empty jug across the room and pitches forward with his hands on his knees. He gags and coughs, wiping at his eyes and runny nose with the back of his hand. Lucifer guides him gently back to the chair and rubs at his back until his breathing evens out.

Lucifer squats down in front of Sam and presses cool lips to his forehead, murmuring against the crease between his eyebrows.

“I’m so proud of you, Sam. I love you so much.” He brushes his thumbs along Sam’s cheeks, and Sam wraps his hands around Lucifer’s wrists and tips his head up to look him in the eyes.

“One more,” Lucifer whispers.

Sam thinks that he’ll actually miss those blue eyes.

“Gimmee it,” he says. His voice is flat, and he’s so tired. He’s ready for this to be over.

He has no idea how long he’s been working his way through the jugs. The last one is cold, chilled by Lucifer’s presence in the room to the point that it falls into his mouth in sludge and clumps. Sam twitches and retches as he swallows. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he feels like his stomach will burst with the sheer volume of it.

He balls his hand into a fist on his knee. It feels like his skin is splitting open over the knuckles. He’s hot and cold in turns, with sweat soaking the back of his shirt and darkening his temples, but he shivers so hard that he bites his tongue.

Lucifer sits back and watches, keeping a hand on Sam’s leg the entire time. It grounds Sam, reminds him what he’s doing it for. Fighting destiny has brought him nothing but grief and pain, and this is the way to end it.

The jug falls from his fingers and hits the floor with a hollow thud. Bits of congealed blood fly off the mouth and splatter the hem of Lucifer’s jeans. Everything is moving in high definition, slow motion.

“What now?” Sam asks. His tongue is swollen and his breathing is laboured. He’s sure this is what the bad end of an overdose feels like, body too heavy and still somehow about to fly apart at the seams.

Lucifer smiles softly and brushes his knuckles along the side of Sam’s face. He pushes the hair back out of Sam’s eyes before standing and stepping away.

“Just say the word, Sam. Say yes, and let me in.”

Sam sucks back a sob and nods messily. “Yes. Yes, Lucifer. _Yes_.”

The dark room goes blinding white. Sam closes his eyes and holds up a hand to shield them, and then it’s all over.

**Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, try to carry this message to others, and to practice these principles in all your affairs.**

Lindsay waits three days before she goes to Sam’s apartment. He’s a big guy, he can take care of himself, even if his boyfriend is the creepiest guy she’s ever met.

She finds an unlocked door, and all of his stuff still there. Even his toothbrush.

Even his gun.

The Big Book is open on the unmade bed with the first seven steps crossed over. She picks it up gently and snaps the cover shut, sighing as she sinks down onto the edge of the bed.

She could use a drink.


End file.
